Sweet potato pies. Red Kool-Aid ® be it strawberry or cherry flavored.  Her dog Duchess.  Kool ® cigarettes that she would fashionably burn, occasionally smoke, and eventually dropped from her repertoire.  A fiery temper if someone hurt the people she loved, and unflinching loyalty to support to the same.  Playing in her closet that went on forever, not realizing its length was attributable to its location under the hallway stairs (see photo).  Recuperating from my broken ankle 30 years ago in the same recliner my grandpa used to sit in that she kept in her apartment.  My mother doing her grocery shopping for and with her, and some of the quirky habits she developed as she gracefully aged, such as stuffing facial tissue in nearly every purse she owned “just in case” she needed them or ducking down a different aisle in the supermarket.  Grape jelly sandwiches so full that the bread crumbled.  Attending my baccalaureate graduation in Texas, flying on an airplane for the first time to see one of a few college graduates in my family at that juncture.  A delicate flower in the nursing home where she spent the last 7 years of her life, those final hours when my seminarian friend came to bless her and I heard her speak two words, the last two she would speak in this world, “Thank you.” And the unspeakable beauty of the nearly wordless exchange between my aunt and mother with a love that permeated the room in those final hours.  They are 23 years apart in age, so when their parents died, my aunt became mother to my mom.

My Aunt Marie, my dear sweet Aunt Marie, laid down the mantle of this life three years ago today.  She inspires me now to stay the course in the face of difficulty, and yes, she is oh so sweet (did I say that already?).  Although she was not Catholic, how fitting that the enduring matriarch of my family died on the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, mother par excellence.  I see a lot of her in my mother now, more so than when I was younger, and what a sight to behold.  May I run as well as she did, so that my life reflects the timeless beauty in her and my mother that is summed up in this piece I re-wrote especially for her:

New life, new life
The melody is true
“I make all things new!”
Eternity is come,
Singing to me
The unending song of love and life.
No tear and sigh
No question why
They have their yes in him.
I am free, and I am whole,
and now I am home.
New life, new life
The melody is true:
I am made new.
And when the time comes,
you will be too.
Well done, Aunt Marie, well done.

©2008, Roxanne E. Barnes.  All Rights Reserved.

Last week’s race was not a long one, only a 5K, but each time I am privileged to compete in this particular race, a wellspring of gratitude within me is tapped anew.  In some ways, this race inspired me to begin writing my blog nearly two years ago.  It takes me to a sacred place, holy and special to me.  Last week’s race, as it has been for the previous two years I walked it, winds its way through Spring Grove Cemetery and Arboretum.  Not as many people compete in this race as some others in which I compete, perhaps because of the venue and the poignancy such a place stirs.

For many people, the cemetery is not a place of celebration but one that reminds them of tears, sadness, and loss.  I thought of these, felt these, when I came to this place to bid farewell to the earthly life that so many loved ones led.  I remembered visiting their gravesites, leaving flowers, saying a prayer of thanks for their lives.  And then, yes, then, I remembered the day I felt the firm press in my palm of my friend’s hand after I prayed at her grave, or the day I saw a rainbow reflected in the noonday sun at the same locale.  Life changes you, her, everything, I later wrote, and it remains true today.

Life changes my grandpa, interred nearly 40 years ago in one of several veterans’ sections by which my steps took me.  Life changes my beloved aunt and uncle, interred in a grassy knoll that I passed near as well.  Life changes me as well, strengthens me to press on, grateful beyond words for the ways these four people changed me.  Each of them said yes in their lives, and through their yes, wonderful things happened:  my grandpa and grandma gave birth to my mother and her siblings; my friend inspired growth in me that led me to write and deepen my relationship with God.  I felt them near, so very near, and I wondered if others walking with me last week experienced a taste of the sublime as well.  Life changes you, me, and everyone. I deliberately speak of them in the present, honoring the eternal present in which they abide, no longer bound by chronological time, but by Kairos time, a time in which something specially appointed occurs.

I did not walk alone, though no one accompanied me directly.  With each footfall, every breath, and every stirring of the breeze, I walked with those who not only love me, but who love countless others to the fullness of life to which we are all called.  Last week, I took a serendipitous detour to someplace wonderful.  And I heard a familiar message that never ceases to amaze me:  come, come run with me.  The still, small voice does not stop speaking love and life to my soul…or yours.

Will you accept the invitation?

I do not often write off the cuff, but today, my heart was so moved, nearly to tears, at the gift I received this morning.  No, I did not win the lottery, although that would have been nice, nor did I receive a favorable response to recent career-related inquiries.  My heart opened a little more, my vision looked beyond where I expected, and hours later, the sun still shines within on this sultry day.  All this, because I chose a different path today.

Initially, I was grateful that the 75 or so degrees this morning felt so cool, in spite of a record-streak of hot temperatures enveloping much of the country.  I knew I would sweat today on my walk, but it would be a little more, dare I say it, pleasant.  As I approached the park where I planned to walk, a still small voice within me said, “Walk this way,” and my gaze turned to the neighborhood across the street from the park.  Gently reassuring, I wondered why I received this invitation…but I followed its call nonetheless.  I had no idea what awaited me on this path today.  Off I went.

First I saw some beautiful Rose of Sharon hibiscus, so I stopped and photographed them, giddy at the site of flowers I actually recognized.  I continued on my walk, and saw a beautiful array that included red hibiscus and several other flowers that made me want to jump up and down.  Sometimes an unexpected or even undesired turn  reveals hidden strengths that would lie undiscovered, unknown, and unwelcome had I not taken a different turn.

How many times have I run from the course that would take me off the beaten path?  I suspect there are not enough fingers on which to count or pages on which to record this oft-derided fact.  How many times have I opted for the easy, comfortable, and familiar, forsaking the invitation of the still, small voice that summons me to a wanderlust that embraces me in the home for which I have always longed.  Off the beaten path…it is where I long to be all whom I am meant to be.

Walk this way…how different my day would have been, how different my prayer would have been, had I chosen the predictable tree-lined park path.  I would have missed an opportunity to go deeper.  In every step I take, I press into uncharted territory.  Sometimes I fight to take the next step.  Dare I say it, sometimes (but not often enough!) off the beaten path, I pray too to be softened, so that I not be an impediment to others on their journey.

What lies around the corner?  The two deer I saw less than 100 feet away reminded me that grace opens my heart to honor those around me.  Everyone I meet has a race to run, a journey to take, and when I encounter them, I pray to see the beauty of their journey.  Sometimes, as in the wooded forest into which these deer surely bounded, the ground is uncertain, ensconced in shadow, and each step is taken haltingly-or not at all.  As athletes say, I hit the proverbial wall, yet I recall the still small voice that invited me off the beaten path today.  My choice?  I press on, looking for the blessing.

I truly love the days before a race, for regardless of the length of said race, my perception shifts, my heart opens, and yes, oh yes, I hear so much more clearly.  How to summarize what I felt this morning:  “Do not be afraid of the unknown, Roxanne.  You step off the beaten path to become all you are meant to be.” The certitude of the invitation of the still small voice within my heart is unshaken.  Come, run with me.  Home.